


ongoing story

by Pinkandglitterdinosaur



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, F/M, Gen, Harleen Quinzel Needs a Hug, Internalized Homophobia, Joker (DCU) Has Issues, Jonathan Crane and Scarecrow are Different People, M/M, Minor Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma, Protective Jonathan Crane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:22:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26370337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkandglitterdinosaur/pseuds/Pinkandglitterdinosaur
Summary: He watched, waiting, perhaps even brooding, hiding behind  a stack of boxes in the shipyard. His shipment was yet to arrive. It was scheduled for the day before last and never reached port. In fact, it seemed to have disappeared entirely, as if it had completely fallen off the edge of the earth.Jonathan Crane wasn't an impatient man, but paranoia was a defining trait of his ever-watching 'roommate'. The Scarecrow wasn't frightened, heavens no, of course not. The Scarecrow never got scared, and in effect, neither did Doctor Jonathan Crane. However, when something of this magnitude went awry, the both of them could consider the idea that maybe they might, in fact, be concerned.UNFINISHED but I will be REWRITING it, so subscribe and stay tuned for the REAL VERSION that I am PROUD OF
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/Harleen Quinzel, Jonathan Crane & Jervis Tetch
Kudos: 4





	1. S.C.A.R.E.C.R.O.W.

**Author's Note:**

> Each chapter will contain the trigger warnings at the beginning of the chapter. All other notes will be put at the end of the chapter.
> 
> This first chapter does not contain trigger warnings.

He watched, waiting, perhaps even brooding, hiding behind a stack of boxes in the shipyard. His shipment was yet to arrive. It was scheduled for the day before last and never reached port. In fact, it seemed to have disappeared entirely, as if it had completely fallen off the edge of the earth.

Jonathan Crane wasn't an impatient man, but paranoia was a defining trait of his ever-watching 'roommate'. The Scarecrow wasn't frightened, heavens no, of course not. The Scarecrow never got scared, and in effect, neither did Doctor Jonathan Crane. However, when something of this magnitude went awry, the both of them could consider the idea that maybe they might, in fact, be concerned. Concerned, perhaps, but never frightened or scared or startled. No, they created fear in others and in turn they earned an immunity to such an emotion. No, they weren't scared.  
Three times that year, since January, they had been sent to Arkham. Three times that year, since January, they had escaped. It was a record low and they planned to avoid the Vigilante as much as possible to keep this score. It was late August, and two and a half months since their last escape. That means, four months and some change since their last capture. This was good. But it was also bad.

After two nights and a day and a half spent hiding out in a warehouse that smelled simultaneously like mildew and fish, Jonathan entered a reign of control over his body. The Scarecrow didn't enjoy this "fatigue" or "hunger" that inhabited his mortal suit. But on that note, neither did Jonathan; he just knew how to deal with it.

"I have just about had enough of you," the doctor spat through gritted teeth. At seeing a cloud appear in the path of his breath, he pulled his blanket closer around his shoulders. "You are such a child."  
"If I were a child, that wouldn't make you any older, now would it?" the Scarecrow responded, in what he believed to be a very mature tone of voice. "The Batman stole my shipment, and I would like to go home. But no, you insist on leaving my body in the wet and the cold for several days because you think it's just late."

"Yes, you've said this before. And it's my body, not yours. I simply allow you to borrow it if you ask nicely." The man was more angry than he was tired, and could keep this up for several more days if only to spite his other half. The Scarecrow knew this; it had happened many times before. However, he found himself to be just as stubborn if not more so, and would continue to pester Jonathan as long as he could.

At some point in the night, both of them realized that they couldn't feel their nose. The prospect of not having a nose worried both of them. Their face was much more important than their pride.  
"Alright," Scarecrow stated in a very hoarse voice, forcing himself into pilot position. "It's time to leave." Much to his delight, he received no opposition from Jonathan, who had immediately relinquished control when he felt the Scarecrow pushing forward. He stood up much too quickly, however, in his rush to get home, and needed a moment to regain his vision. "Damn. When did you last drink any water, Jonathan?"

Jonathan didn't answer, but would have chuckled darkly if he could.

The Scarecrow maneuvered his feet to leave the rank of the warehouse and start walking the streets of Gotham. He didn't trust taxi drivers, or Uber for that matter. One too many times did they recognise him and call the police. It had happened exactly once. No, he wasn't afraid. He was paranoid.

After about an hour of walking, Jonathan finally spoke again. He didn't like talking when he wasn't in front.

"We'll need to stop somewhere. You ate all my food at home." His words were short and emotionless. The thought was a crisp command and nothing more. The Scarecrow smiled. He liked that he made the doctor uncomfortable. The idea that Jonathan found it hard to convey a thought in the back seat simply fascinated him. Dr. Crane wasn't the only one of them with a PhD.

"Well," he replied slowly. "Where would you like me to stop? That drugstore around the corner where Harley Quinn shot your foot, perhaps?" After he spat out that unpleasant memory, he couldn't help but grin at the uncensored feeling of disgust that crowded his head. "Thai food then, yes?"

"I hate Thai food."

"That sounds spectacular," Scarecrow crooned, pretending to not have heard him. "You did bring your wallet, yes?"

"No."

The Scarecrow searched his coat pockets, then found it in his satchel. "Thank you very much," he muttered, practically jumping with joy at the thought of some spicy peanut chow-mein.

"You are incredibly lucky that I cannot physically fight you," Jonathan said. He then purposely blacked out, leaving Scarecrow to do whatever it was he pleased. He wouldn't return until morning.

As soon as Scarecrow was sure he couldn't feel him lurking in the shadows of his mind any longer, he let out a relieved sigh. "Goodnight, Jonathan. Thank you, for letting me have fun once in a while. I appreciate it," he whispered. His pride prevented him from revealing this up front, but he hoped that Jonathan understood anyway.


	2. The Bathtub

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Jonathan woke up that morning, the last thing he needed was to find his clothes still on and crusty with blood. His roommate had done much more than go out for dinner.
> 
> With a sigh, he rolled out of bed and started stripping, tossing each article of clothing into the metal trash bin in his bathroom. Before stepping in the shower, he emptied a bottle of rubbing alcohol on the fabric, lit a match, and burned the evidence of whatever crime Scarecrow got into.
> 
> "What did you even do last night?" he asked, mostly to himself. His other half wouldn't wake up until after coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mention of unsafe surgical procedure, domestic and sexual abuse, unsafe abortion, miscarriage

When Jonathan woke up that morning, the last thing he needed was to find his clothes still on and crusty with blood. His roommate had done much more than go out for dinner.

With a sigh, he rolled out of bed and started stripping, tossing each article of clothing into the metal trash bin in his bathroom. Before stepping in the shower, he emptied a bottle of rubbing alcohol on the fabric, lit a match, and burned the evidence of whatever crime Scarecrow got into.

"What did you even do last night?" he asked, mostly to himself. His other half wouldn't wake up until after coffee.

Jonathan yanked back the shower curtain, but ultimately stopped himself from stepping in. The bathtub was occupied. The figure was covered in blood, but still extremely familiar. There was much more than worry circling through Jon's mind; those pigtails might as well have been a red flag.

"What the fuck did you do last night?" he asked urgently. It was easy to pull himself forward into the drivers' seat or give up the reins to the Scarecrow, but it was almost impossible to wake him up manually.

In a panic, Jonathan nearly tore apart his bedroom looking for his cellphone. Cursing as he went, he dialed up that Human Data-center.

"Household of Edward Nygma, Cobblepot speaking."

"Where's Ed?" he yelled. Much to his annoyance, Oswald hung up. When he dialed again, it was answered immediately.

"If you're going to be rude, I'm afraid I can't be cooperative," Oswald stated smugly.

"This is an emergency, Penguin. I need to speak with Edward." There was a silence, presumably while Oswald talked to Ed.

"What do you want, Crane? I'm still very mad about-"

"Quinn is dead in my bathtub."

Another silence.

"As in, Harleen Quinzel?"

"Yes."

"I hope you aren't shitting me."

"I went to sleep early last night. He hasn't woken up yet. I thought he was just getting Thai food."

"You need to get rid of the body, Crane."

"He said he was getting Thai food."

"Now, Crane! You've put me in danger just by calling me. You need to get rid of the evidence, now. Believe me, I'd come over to help but I don't want to be in your vicinity when he comes for you." Just the day before, Jonathan believed that he wasn't afraid of anything. Turns out, there were a few things that he was scared of. One of which was the Joker, the other being death.

Jonathan hung up and sat on the floor, in the midst of the blankets and sheets he'd thrown around. He wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting there when he heard a crash. Suddenly, his mind was silent.

"Jonny?" a voice said, it sounded frightened and confused. "Jonny?" Whoever it was was on the verge of tears.

"Who's there?" he called. As soon as he said it, there was a cry of relief and hiccup-sobs to accompany.

He pulled on a pair of boxers and carefully inched toward the bathroom.

"Harley?" There was a violent bout of crying, which finally brought him to the decision to re-enter the bathroom.

The young woman was lying on her back on the tiles, just under the sink, with one foot hanging over the edge of the tub. One of her hands was grasped in her once-white shirt, the other lying on her stomach. She was wearing only her shirt and underwear. She turned her head to look at the ex-doctor, tears flowing freely.

"Oh, Harley," he whispered softly, kneeling on the floor to take her into his arms. "Oh, baby, what did He do to you?" She was clinging desperately to his bare chest and shoulders. After only a few moments, he scooted closer to the tub and turned on the water. "Hey, shh. I'm going to get you cleaned up, alright?" She nodded and sniffed rather vigorously.

Jonathan was careful to make the water a good temperature, remembering that she didn't care for anything colder than molten lava but knowing that a boiling bath wasn't very healthy. He inserted the bath plug and turned his attention to the fragile-looking mess in his arms.

"Do you want to get undressed yourself or would you like help?" he asked. Harley shook her head and nearly smothered him to death with her cuddling. "Come on, baby. You need to clean up," he urged. She shook her head again, and he sighed. He politely waited until the bath was full to ask again. She had stopped crying, entering that little period of numb that comes after.

"I'm going to help you get undressed, okay baby?" This time, she nodded. He gently pried her off, stopping to press a kiss to her forehead. As he was trying to avoid grumbling about 'crusty ass yucky clothes, don't like it', he came upon the realization that her underwear was significantly stickier and fresher than the rest of her. "Are you menstruating?" he asked, confused. There was too much blood to be just that, not to mention he had been covered as well.

"No," she whispered, so quiet she might as well have not said it. "I haven't for months."

Then, it clicked.

"I'm going to lift you up and put you in the bath, okay?" He searched her face for approval when she nodded and once again held him close. "Up we go," he said. Once she was settled, Jonathan poured in a few drops of lavender oil. "I'll be right back. I'm going to make you some tea. Any requests?" She shook her head, and he hesitantly left her to herself.

He grabbed his phone and walked into the kitchen, dialing up Ed once again.

"I sure hope you realize I'm going to smash this phone in ten minutes time starting right now."

"Ed, she's alive."

"What the fuck? What the actual fuck, Crane? You just about sent me into hiding!"

"I know, I'm sorry. But I am not yet in the clear, so don't get your hopes up."

"You hear that, Oswald? Don't get your hopes up, he said." At this, Jonathan rolled his eyes.

"What is he even doing at your house Ed? I thought you two were trying to kill each other."

"As far as you are aware, we still are. He isn't here and he certainly didn't answer the phone for me." He sounded like he was scolding the Penguin, which was something not many people lived to talk about.

"Whatever. Look, Harley was pregnant."

"Was, as in, not anymore."

"Correct. I don't think it would be wise to make her talk about last night, so I'll have to update you when He comes back."

"Please do, because I'm one-hundred percent packed and ready to leave Gotham."

~

Jonathan stirred a spoonful of sugar into her chamomile tea; she had quite the sweet tooth. He took a sip, testing the temperature, and walked back to his bedroom.

"Jonny?" she asked. "Jonny is that you?"

"Yes, I've brought you your tea. Can I come in?" She answered with a brief 'yeah' and he entered the bathroom. The bathwater was more red than pink, but not dark enough to signal that she was still bleeding. "The cup is hot, so be careful baby." He handed it over, and slumped over as he sat on the toilet seat.

She sat quietly, sipping her tea, occasionally rubbing spots of blood out of her skin.

"I didn't know you were different people," she stated awkwardly. Jonathan perked up and sat up straight.

"I don't know what you mean." Oh, he knew, but he was worried about the implications of the escape of this knowledge.

"The Scarecrow told me," she added. "I didn't know that he was a different person than you. I thought that you just used it as, like, a work name or something." Jonathan kept his mouth tightly shut. Harley made some childish splashing before looking back at him.

"Are you talking to him right now?" She sounded like a six year old, asking about Santa or the Easter Bunny. "Can he talk back but in your head?"

"He's asleep right now," he stated firmly. "I think it's time to get you soaped up." He stood, taking time to stretch his back out before sitting on the edge of the tub. He poured some body wash into his palm and started with her arms, careful to avoid getting any soap in her drink.

Occasionally, he'd catch a ticklish spot and she'd jolt away and giggle. It made him angry. He wasn't angry at her, heavens no. He was amazed that anyone would be so cruel to such a cute child-like woman. The Joker was more than sadistic to have done so many horrible things to her. She had the mind of a child, for God's sake, and he had raped her more times than Jonathan would care to admit knowing about. She had come to his house in the middle of the night many a time with bruises as big as a small watermelon. But every single time, she always fled back to that monster.

He had gotten her pregnant this time, and whether the miscarriage was intentional or not, the fact that it happened at all said much more than words about how their relationship worked. Anger was much too soft of a word to describe how Jonathan felt as he worked the suds into her hair. But as much as he hated Joker, Jon's fears would always overpower it. He would never bring himself to fix the situation by any means.

He pulled a towel from the bathroom cupboard and drained the tub.

"Hey!" she exclaimed. "The air's cold, you big meany." He chuckled at her attempt at an insult.

"Once you dry off, I can get you some blankets. Now hurry up, silly."


	3. The Bathtub, part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he emerged from the bathroom, his entire closet had been emptied in favor of his clothes covering the floor and bed. He could hardly be angry, though, not when she was running around the house naked save for Scarecrow's face.
> 
> "How do you see in this thing?" she exclaimed. Even within 10 hours of a miscarriage, she was as ecstatic as ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mention of unsafe surgical procedure, domestic and sexual abuse, unsafe abortion, miscarriage
> 
> Also, soft Scarecrow, because everyone needs gentle friend once in a while.

Jonathan Crane sat at his kitchen counter, a mug of black coffee going cold in his hands. He had showered and put on his clothes while Harley Quinn absolutely destroyed his organization system. When he emerged from the bathroom, his entire closet had been emptied in favor of his clothes covering the floor and bed. He could hardly be angry, though, not when she was running around the house wearing nothing but the homemade mask that Scarecrow called a face.

"How do you see in this thing?" she exclaimed. Even within 10 hours of a miscarriage, she was as ecstatic as ever.

After Jonathan managed to coax her out of the mask, he tried his very best to put clothes on her; you never know when someone might pop by for a visit, even in Gotham. She refused to put on pants, so he was forced to settle with a shirt.

"Get over here, you," he called after her, watching her scamper down the hallway. He was hyper-aware of why Joker opted to inhabit warehouses over apartments. With a sigh, Jonathan shuffled into the kitchen to make coffee. It seemed that all three of them needed a dose or two.

"Harley!" he yelled. "What do you want in your coffee?" He was answered with a bang, which was either her dropping something or tripping and falling flat on her face.

"Chocolate milk!" she screamed back.

"Are you asking for chocolate milk or do you want chocolate milk in your coffee?"

"In the coffee!"

And with that, he added a large squeeze of that nasty chocolate syrup he hated (he only had any because Harley wasn't a rare visitor) and two 'glumps' of milk to an empty mug. He'd never heard of someone putting chocolate milk in their coffee, but she sounded sure of herself.

Jonathan patiently waited for the pot to fill, listening carefully to the thumping of feet for sounds of injury. When none came, only the shriek of laughter when she found something, probably a bug, he filled their mugs.

"Harley! Come get your coffee!"

~

"How can I be sure you aren't lying to me?" Jonathan whispered. Harley was fast asleep, taking a nap on the living room floor. The caffeine effectively knocked her out.

"I wouldn't lie about this, Jonny." The Scarecrow was practically growling with anger. At least the two of them had their enemies in common.

"I can't believe you did that," Jonathan replied. "You came very close to killing her. We don't have the supplies to safely abort a pregnancy!"

"You are correct, but she lived and she's mostly fine anyway."

"You should have threatened the local clinic or something."

"Harley wanted it to stay secret. I couldn't keep her situation under the radar and do it safely all at once. You would have done the same," Scarecrow stated. Suddenly, his tone was solemn in place of that seething anger. "You didn't see her last night."

Both of them went silent, listening to Harley's faint snoring. She was face up on the carpet, the Scarecrow's face still held hostage in her fist. He couldn't help but feel endearment towards her, even when she stole his face and his clothes. The Scarecrow wasn't someone known for those soft emotions that are so characteristic of human beings. But, nevertheless, there were a few people who were lucky enough to receive his sentiment.

"She's special to both of us, Jonny," he said. "I would never do something to hurt her."

"I know. I know, I just want to be angry at someone I can actively tell off. He's not the sort that you can have a casual argument with, especially if it has something to do with his playthings. "Also," he added. "Why did you put me in bed last night? That's something very odd to do when a patient is sleeping in the bathtub."

"You know very well how dangerous it would have been to move her in those first few hours. I would have given up the bed willingly for her, but there was no use sacrificing our bodily comfort for no reason."

"You are cold."

"Thank you. I try very hard these days." At this, Jonathan choked back a laugh.

"I should call Edward." He put his mug in the sink and stretched. "He's got to be awfully worried."

"Let him be worried. He deserves a little fear in his life after putting icy-hot in my face. Damn villain, he is." As Scarecrow ranted on, Jonathan calmly dialed up the 'damn villain' with an amused expression. There were only a few people in Gotham that could make Scarecrow uncomfortable.

"Edward Nygma speaking."

"Harley's fine. She's taking a nap on my floor, but she's fine otherwise. I am a little worried because I haven't vacuumed in years, though." Jonathan made a mental note to do that.

"Again, fuck you. I have to unpack now." Just faintly, he could hear obnoxious laughter in the background. "But please do explain what even happened. We executed a bank heist together just last week and she seemed fine."

"It wasn't just a miscarriage; it was an abortion."

"Good god. Please tell me she didn't DIY it."

"No, Scarecrow did it. According to him, she was squatting in our house waiting for us to show up. I'm completely out of cereal now."

"I honestly didn't even know you ate cereal. Oswald! Crane eats cereal!" There was a brief silence. "He asked what kind."

"Fuck you, that's what kind. Do you want to know what happened or not?" Suddenly, it was Scarecrow's turn on the line.

"Uh, yeah, no. I'm sorry Mr. Nygma, but even as a rogue ex-doctor I still have a semblance of patient-doctor confidentiality. I'm afraid that Jonathan does not have the authority to reveal this information. If there's nothing else you need, we'll be going now."

There was a beep to signal that he had hung up on Edward.

"Jonathan Crane," he sighed. "I feel like I have a responsibility to tell you that the Riddler is an information broker. That means he will sell this information. Harley Quinn went through the trouble of seeking us out in private to ask us to preform an abortion all so that no one would find out about it." Jonathan was silent. He had forgotten that Edward survived on the gossip trade.

"I think it's time for me to check up on her," Scarecrow stated. He received no opposition from his other.

In truth, Jonathan would have checked her earlier. But it had been too many years since he took an advanced course in female biology. He was a behavioral psychiatry major, and felt like he didn't need it in the first place. However, the Scarecrow was much more apt in the department of removing people's organs and therefore understood the torso cavity more than his counterpart. Jon had never enjoyed looking at, or thinking of, the inner parts of someone's body. To him, it was unnecessarily gruesome.

"Harley, baby," he said softly, sitting on the floor next to her. He rubbed her arm to wake her up, knowing that she was a heavy sleeper. "I need to check your tummy, time to wake up."  
She groaned, making a sound that somewhat resembled "okay" before stretching quite avidly. After only a second with her toes pointed like a ballerina from the strength of the stretch, she hisses and instantly relaxed her muscles.

"Oh, I'm sorry, honey," he cooed, placing a warm hand on her stomach. He gestured to the burlap sack still in her hand. "Are you done with that?" She shook her head no and brought it to her chest.

"Alright, then you can hold on to it for now." Inside, both of them chuckled to themselves. "I'm going to push down on your stomach, and I need you to tell me if it hurts, okay baby?" She was more awake now and nodded her head.

Over the course of Scarecrow's examination, it was revealed that she sustained very little permanent damage.

"You're gonna be sore for a while, so be careful. Try not to get pregnant again soon, your body is going to still be healing for at least six months. Your period is going to be in one month, because this has reset your cycle. If you don't get one, you need to get in touch with me again." She listened as she fidgeted with Jon's shirt, Scarecrow's mask still in her hand.

"Okay," she said, getting up and walking away. "I'm going to bed now."

"Good thing you changed the sheets, Jonny. I think she's heading for your bed."

"I have extra blankets in the closet, Harley!" he shouted. He heard her say something gibberish, or maybe it was english but a little too fast, and sat down on the couch. For the first time in days, he relaxed.


	4. Puddin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He stood on the fire escape, gazing into the sewage of humanity he called home. He listened contently to the sounds of sirens in the distance and choppers cutting through the thick night sky. His very favorite toy sat just inside, behind the couch, and he felt like he could float away on the sound of those soft, emotional sobs.
> 
> The man smiled. It was a genuine smile this time; not a permanent scar to mar his face, or a grin for show-biz. He was happy. He was high on his own emotions. His anger, his sadness, his joy, even his guilt, the little that he had. It flooded his system every now and again and he couldn't help but still himself and appreciate the poetry of it. The hilarity of it, sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mention and implication of domestic and sexual abuse, psychological manipulation
> 
> The first and only chapter where The Joker himself will actually show up.

He stood on the fire escape, gazing into the sewage of humanity he called home. He listened contently to the sounds of sirens in the distance and choppers cutting through the thick night sky. His very favorite toy sat just inside, behind the couch, and he felt like he could float away on the sound of those soft, emotional sobs.

The man smiled. It was a genuine smile this time; not a permanent scar to mar his face, or a grin for show-biz. He was happy. He was high on his own emotions. His anger, his sadness, his joy, even his guilt, the little that he had. It flooded his system every now and again and he couldn't help but still himself and appreciate the poetry of it. The hilarity of it, sometimes.

Regardless of how many times he showed the world what he was made of, he would never truly reach all of it. He would never have enough time in the entire world to tell the whole story. He was a joke so complex, the onlookers just might never reach the punchline before he died.

This joke of a man took a last drag from a cigarette before dropping it into the alleyway below. He had been patiently waiting for someone to walk by, so as to drop it on their head. But it was getting late, or early for that matter, and even the most savage of lunatics needed sleep. It was his day off after all.

"Harley," he growled, putting the facade back up. "You better shut your fucking mouth or I'll sew it closed for you. You didn't like that last time, now did you?" He was answered with a whimper and a short silence, which he took to be her holding her breath. A wise choice.

"I'll be in my bedroom. When you come to your senses, feel free to join me," he added in a much softer voice as he crawled back inside his apartment through the window. To emphasize his point, he drew a cheap lollipop from his jacket and threw it in her general direction. He hoped she got the message, the joke, of it. You are such a child.

He had taken off his makeup just hours earlier, before Harley so rudely barged in on him. So, he didn't bother with his clothes much at all before falling face first on the bed. He did, however, remove his shoes and gloves. Those were the most expensive items he owned. Well, those and the girl. However, he couldn't help but appreciate how devoted she was to him. She was his most beautiful work of art; years of manipulation and training went into this project. And now, she was his to keep. Until she died, which he was reluctant to let happen, regardless of what he said to her face. So, so many years. But even then, it seemed, there were a few chinks in the programming.

He couldn't have been laying there for more than five minutes before he heard the door creak open and squeak closed. 'How funny. I thought she wouldn't join me at all.'

"Puddin'," she started, cautious and quiet. "Are you still awake, Honey?" In response, he rolled over and looked at her pointedly in an expression he hoped conveyed a certain air of disappointment. She visibly looked away and bit her lip, fiddling with her skirt. The both of them knew that that skirt had been two inches longer just minutes ago. But that was her solution to many things, and it seemed to go over well most of the time. But even when it didn't, she tried tried tried again. Just the week before, he had nearly broken her neck after she tried to pull what she thought was very clever. She never found out that it was really just something that he had taught her to do and not her idea at all.

"Have you thought about what you did, Harleen Quinzel?" He asked this with a sharp tone, which made her flinch in a way that just made him tingle. She took a moment to consider her options, then nodded. "Are you going to be good from now on?" he added, his voice dripping with disappointment. She needed to think he was angry with her and her actions, or else she'd never learn. She nodded again.

"I'm real sorry, Mista J," she muttered, holding back another fit of sobs. "I'm real, real sorry. I won't ever do it again, I promise."

"Get over here," he commanded. Hesitantly, she crawled across the bed to his side and flinched violently when he enveloped her in a hug. He loved it when she did that; it just made his heart flutter. "Don't worry, I forgive you." With this, she finally relaxed. She wasn't in the safe zone, but she was safe enough.

The man kissed her in a way that would have been sweet had it been between any two other people. But it wasn't sweet at all, no. Because he planned on hurting her in every way he could that night without permanent damage. This kiss was just a calm before the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, lemme just say that I fucking hate these two so much because its a great story and all but I've heard people use them as "relationship goals" and it really upsets me. This should never, ever be anyone's goal in any relationship. I loved writing this and I wanted to really fuck shit up, but this is not the kind of book or reputation I desire to put out in the world. It's extremely short, yes, but that's because I planned on going a lot farther and decided against it. I'm sorry, not sorry.


	5. The End of a Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To avoid confusion, I want to clarify that several years have passed since Jonathan Crane found Harley Quinn in his bathtub.
> 
> .
> 
> Every time that the two wandered into the Abyss, for "baked goods," the Scarecrow was intrigued with the idea that they had never been attacked. Several times a week, Jon would meander into the territory of the cracked and the insane, and emerge without injury. Jonathan himself didn't care to find out why, and the Crow even suspected he was disappointed at surviving his unscheduled trips downtown. This was sufficient reasoning to not leave him to run about unsupervised, but still only a hunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: Severe untreated mental illness, implied possible suicidal thoughts and actions, living mutilation, straight up no debate cold blooded murder, implied mutilation of a dead body, grieving

"Human beings are so unpredictable. I say that as though I weren't one of them, though sometimes I do feel so separate from them," Jonathan said, watching a building burn down in the Dark Zone. The only palatable bakery in Gotham was deep in the abyss, much to his distaste. But he was entirely willing to risk his safety to get to it.

"That is such a human thing to say," the Scarecrow responded, equally as despondent. The loss of human life was undesirable. He couldn't help but note that Jonathan had a point, though, while the two of them watched an entire group of crazies run into the flames, yelling praises as they jovially skipped to a violent death. "Even if we wanted to be separate from them, we would not be successful in severing that tie."

Jonathan turned away from the fire, a lump in his throat, and resumed his journey. Even blocks away he could hear those special gurgling screams, each one sounding oh so familiar but impossible to place. He wasn't afraid, of course not. No, he wasn't worried either because worry is too close to fear. What did the doctor feel? Perhaps, maybe he felt disgust. Yes, disgust is acceptable because he is definitely not afraid.

"Let me take this one, Jonny." There was a certain tenderness in the Scarecrow's voice that might've startled Jon a year ago. Scarecrow had his hands resting on the controls, a show of confidence and what could have been perceived as affection for his flatmate. "I can deal with this until we're out of the Narrows."

"I can't, Crow," the doctor sighed. "If I am going to see her, then I have to see it myself." But I hope to God she's dead, he added to himself. Scarecrow wasn't as apt in the study of the human mind as his counterpart but he knew that Jonathan Crane needed closure. So, he settled back and passively watched as Jon scanned every passing gang and every burning car for a specific face that neither of them really wanted to see.

Every time that the two wandered into the Abyss, for "baked goods," the Scarecrow was intrigued with the idea that they had never been attacked. Several times a week, Jon would meander into the territory of the cracked and the insane, and emerge without injury. Jonathan himself didn't care to find out why, and the Crow even suspected he was disappointed at surviving his unscheduled trips downtown. This was sufficient reasoning to not leave him to run about unsupervised, but still only a hunch.

Scarecrow could remember that multiple people had mentioned that the doctor smelled funny. Of course, not in the sense of simple body odor or tainted laundry detergent. No, there was a smell unique to this body, and house most likely. The most accurate description they'd received was that Jon "reeked" of fear.

With this information, the Scarecrow could assume that this body they shared developed an accidental defense mechanism. Perhaps with the prolonged exposure to his homemade toxins and drugs, Jonathan's skin eternally smelled like the hallucinations he could deploy at a moment's notice. But this was only a hypothesis, of course. And if he was correct, it would explain why the denizens of the Dark Zone crossed to the other side of the street when he came near.

With insanity comes some extra perks, the Crow mused.

Jonathan stopped in his tracks when he heard a ‘howl’ begin. Just blocks away he heard a bout of shrill laughter, followed by another voice, and then another. Within seconds, the entire area was laughing and giggling loudly into the sky, the sound spreading like a wave. Every single time, the experience chilled him to the bone.

"Like hyenas," Jonathan whispered. "They aren't even people anymore, Crow. They're animals." The Scarecrow could hear the anger in his voice. There was a malice clear in his words, almost a bloodlust.

But just as he was about to reply, with what he had no idea, their ears almost literally perked up after catching wind of a very familiar voice. There was a chill in the air as Jon singled it out and ran.

Dear God, the Scarecrow prayed. Dear God, please let her be dead. Don't let that be her.

"Jonathan Crane!" he yelled, however close he could get to a yell without a mouth of his own. "Do not run, Jonathan!"

Jon couldn't hear him over the pounding of his heart and that shrill, childlike laughter in his ear. Right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out. Jump over that dead body, dodge the crashed van, hold that breath when smoke appears. Jonathan Crane was in survival mode now. The Scarecrow was violently shoved back into his mind, confined in a claustrophobic little corner and unable to surface until the adrenaline faded.

There. In the middle of the street. A crowd gathered there, swarming and practically dancing around whatever excited them. The voice was there. As he approached, Jonathan pulled his handgun from the waistband of his pants and came to a stop.

In a moment of fear, he screamed into the mass of bodies to gather their attention. To his surprise, they all screamed back in reply. Every single body in the area was turned to him, and the street was almost silent. Even the hyenas that chased him came to a full stop before him, though they were still ready to pounce.

Jon shot his pistol into the air and screamed again at the top of his lungs, again prompting both screams and jeering from the crowd. This time, he watched the faces around him, scanning for the source of the voice he was looking for.

To his relief, he found the face that made the sound and she wasn’t her. Jon lowered his arm to aim at his target, a young black woman with a grin. She stood crookedly, her left foot sitting at an odd angle, and wore nothing above the waist. Her face was covered in blood, presumably from the screw that had been nailed into her face, just below the eye. At first, Jonathan had assumed that she had shaved her head but upon a second look he discovered that she had been scalped, though it had since scabbed over into a bumpy discolored helmet of sorts. He aimed his gun between her eyes.

“Speak,” he commanded. When she showed no response, he yelled, “Fucking speak, God damn it!”

With this he was met with silence.

“We need to leave, Jonny,” the Scarecrow whispered. “We are no longer welcome here, or maybe a little too welcome.” Jonathan took a moment to glance around himself. So many sets of eyes were trained on him and not a single mouth spoke. He took a deep breath and squeezed the trigger.

The bang didn’t even have time to echo before the crowd began spewing off-kilter jeers and moved erratically around him. The Scarecrow thought to himself, So much for that theory on our smell. Jonathan was frozen in fear, watching those animals descend on the unnamed woman.

One man in particular soaked his hands in her blood, puddled on the asphalt, then stood up and calmly walked toward her shooter. Both Jonathan and the Scarecrow watched the man absently paint their face in red.

“Sir,” the Scarecrow piped up. He had to get them out of there before the situation escalated. The man looked him in the eyes.

“Yes?” This startled the Scarecrow. No, not startled, perhaps surprised.

“Since you can speak,” he started, carefully. “Would you mind telling me what you think you’re doing?” For the first time, the man smiled. But instead of a giddy, hysterical grin, it was soft.

“Since you seem to speak for the good doctor,” the man finished his piece of art and licked some of his fingers clean. “Would you mind telling me why Crane is in this part of town?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the real story. I hope you enjoyed those last few chapters of backstory because things definitely don't get any better than they were.


	6. The Beginning of a Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I do not know you,” Crow stated. The man snorted.
> 
> “Well no shit. Of course you don’t, I haven’t introduced myself yet.” He was almost as tall as Jon, and similarly built, with lean (or in Jon’s case, nearly emaciated) limbs. His eyes were a brighter brown, almost yellow in the sun, which added to his off-putting vibe.
> 
> “Would you care to do so?”
> 
> “No.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings. Untreated mental illness, blood and gore, dark humor, romanticized thoughts of murder, death, homicide, dead body, puke

“Since you seem to speak for the good doctor,” the man finished his piece of art and licked some of his fingers clean. “Would you mind telling me why Crane is in this part of town?”

A shiver ran down the Scarecrow’s spine. 'Jonathan, who is this?' But Jonathan didn’t know. The man waited patiently while the Scarecrow tried to remember who he might possibly be, the chaos around them momentarily forgotten.

“Alright,” the stranger sighed, evidently bored. “Whilst you chatter on up in that head of yours, follow me, please.” The Scarecrow hesitated before following him farther down the street and taking a left. The bakery was to the right; was it a good idea to stray from the known path in order to follow a creepy stranger to an unknown location? The Scarecrow could almost hear Jon say ‘Absolutely.’ He jogged a few steps to catch up to his guide.

“I do not know you,” Crow stated. The man snorted.

“Well no shit. Of course you don’t, I haven’t introduced myself yet.” He was almost as tall as Jon, and similarly built, with lean (or in Jon’s case, nearly emaciated) limbs. His eyes were a brighter brown, almost yellow in the sun, which added to his off-putting vibe.

“Would you care to do so?”

“No.”

Silence. Okay, then. 'Are you sure he is not a friend of yours?' The Scarecrow asked again, but received no answer. The lack of input on the situation from his partner was unsettling enough to put him on edge. Unless he had a very specific reason not to, Jonathan usually took the reins when it came to social interaction. He was good with the mind, Scarecrow wasn’t.

The silence continued for a long while before the Scarecrow noticed it. Quiet was hard to come by in Gotham, especially in the Narrows. In the lack of chaos, he could hear their footsteps on the sidewalk as they grew closer to whatever destination fate had in mind for them. If that destination were their final one, it seemed that no one would be around to spectate either. With every unsure step, the Scarecrow grew more and more suspicious of the stranger’s nature.

“Alice told me about you,” the man said, entirely unprompted. When the Scarecrow didn’t say anything back, he continued. “I’m telling you because I don’t like it when people are confused. They stop talking, like you are right now.”

“Who is Alice?” Crow played. “I do not know any Alice.”

“Maybe not, but she knows you apparently.”

“That does not put me at ease.” At this, the man chuckled.

“Yes,” he sighed, smiling. “I tend to make people uncomfortable. I keep forgetting to warn them.”

“You still have not answered my question. Who is Alice? And furthermore, how does she know me?”

“Alice is Alice. But no, she didn’t know anything about you, my friend. Only Doctor Jonathan Crane, born in South Carolina out of wedlock. Oh, I can’t help but feel that second-hand shame from his mother!” This made the Scarecrow flinch. The mention of Jon’s mother brought up a jolt of pain from the back of his mind. But surprisingly, not from Jon.

The Scarecrow grimaced, which reminded him of the gore painted on his face. It was drying now, and had begun to crack along the thinner parts, which flaked off when his skin moved. It had been a while since he felt blood dry on his skin. Jonathan never enjoyed it and Crow was never quite sure how he felt about it, but now he noticed a hint of nostalgia. He couldn’t help but remember more pleasurable times; times when he was still perfecting the Toxin, when he was still new to the world. When he was only a fragment of a personality, a figment of Jonathan’s imagination come to fruition.

“What are you thinking about?” the man asked, interrupting the Scarecrow's daydream.

“Right now?” he replied, receiving a nod. “Right now I’m thinking about how I’m going to murder you.” This caused the stranger to bark a laugh, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“I might actually like you!” he exclaimed. “But regardless, I do need to speak to the Doctor before we part ways.”

“And what makes you so sure that I’m not him?”

“Well, the doctor was the one who shot that lady, not you. I saw you shift your whole demeanor when he receded.” Something useful to remember.

“Not many people catch that, especially before meeting us.”

“Normal people are ignorant and imperceptive. Alice told me so.” The man was obviously obsessed with this Alice, but was she something tangible or something like himself? “And we have arrived!” he announced, flinging his hands into the air. “Welcome to my humble abode. Don’t worry about taking your shoes off, I plan to clean up later anyway.”

The Scarecrow was led up the stoop to the entrance of an apartment building. None of the first floor windows, and some of the second, had glass left in the frame and the doorknob had been torn out of the door itself.

“Oh!” his host said. “If you see someone in the halls, don’t look at them or make any sort of acknowledgement. I won’t be held responsible for what happens if you do.” He then opened the door by sticking his fingers through the hole where the doorknob should have been and wrenching it open forcefully. Overall, it looked quite practiced.

The Scarecrow stepped inside and followed the stranger up a few flights of stairs in silence. His guide was on alert and responded quickly to every noise he could hear. When they reached what Crow assumed was the man’s apartment, they entered and locked the door behind them.

The first thing the Scarecrow noticed was the smell. The sickeningly sweet smell of rot and decay was at the forefront but he could notice an undertone of Italian food. All together, not very pleasant. The second thing he noticed was there was a man-sized hole in the ceiling, leading into the flat above.

Immediately following setting the locks and bolts, the host pushed the coffee table to just under the hole.

“My home is just up there, forgive my deception,” he muttered, carrying a chair, presumably to stack on the table.

“Worry not,” Crow replied. “Your intentions are sincere, so far.” At that, the man chuckled again and playfully pointed at his guest.

“You have an interesting sense of humor, Not-Crane.”

“Forgive me for not introducing myself. I am not quite sure I find you trustworthy as of yet, intentions aside.”

“Well, now that we are home safe,” the man started, climbing up his makeshift ladder to the floor above, motioning for his new friend to follow. “I may as well give you my name. I’m Jervis Tetch.” He offered his hand to the Scarecrow, who was struggling to find stability on the contraption, and pulled him up.

“It is satisfying to finally meet you, Mr. Tetch.” Crow subconsciously brushed his clothes free of dust. “I never thought to gain a proper name, but Dr. Crane has dubbed me Scarecrow.”

“Scarecrow. An interesting name,” Tetch noted. His guest held an expression of disgust, his forehead wrinkled and lips pressed into a fine line. The Scarecrow noticed that the smell of decay and death was only stronger here. “Would you like something to eat or drink while I tell Alice you’re here?”

Crow shook his head and the man sauntered into an adjoining room. Whatever was making the smell wasn’t in eyesight, which made the Scarecrow wonder whether he was glad about that. Up to the point in which he was left alone in the living room, he had thought Jervis Tetch to be somewhat more sane than most inhabitants of the Dark Zone. But with every passing second, the smell still prominent and the air still and quiet, he grew weary of his decision to place himself at the nature of someone he met over a dead body.

Sharing the experience of existing at a crime scene was an intimate thing. No one would bring along someone they didn’t trust explicitly to see their crime. This, however, did work the other way around. Living through any degree of murder with a confidant will seal any bond previously set. But it can also create false bonds with unplanned spectators. There is a surge of chemicals through the brain of all three parties, unleashing a tide of pheromones. Jonathan Crane likened it to sex, or dancing with someone while high.

After a period of time, chemicals and pheromones wear off. If there is no cemented friendship behind the experience, then that bond of complete and utter trust is only temporary.

“Alice says she only wants to speak to Jonathan Crane.” The Scarecrow was shoved out of his thoughts. “Can you tell him it’s urgent?” Jervis sighed.

“Dr. Crane isn’t home right now, would you like to leave a message or make an appointment?” Crow recited, carefully watching his host’s reaction. He did not smile.

“Can he be forced out?” he asked desperately. “Is that possible?”

“Not as far as I am aware. Jonathan Crane may have been born with this body, but I am the core entity.” The Scarecrow wiggled his hands into his pockets, attempting to show dominance by feigning comfort. “There has been little to no scientific research on forcing an outlying personality to emerge.” This was a blatant lie, but unless Tetch could read minds he wouldn’t know that.

Jervis Tetch covered his face with his hands; an expression of exhaustion, Crow supposed.

“I promised that I wouldn’t come home without Doctor Jonathan Crane,” he muttered through his hands, deliberately falling onto the couch.

“Does Alice…” Scarecrow prodded. “Does she hurt you, Mr. Tetch, when you do something wrong?” In response, he shook his head and sighed.

“No,” Tetch whispered, removing his hands from his face. “No, but there’s something wrong with her and she says she won’t talk to any doctor except Crane.”

“Then there seems to have been a bit of a misunderstanding.” The Scarecrow suddenly felt much more comfortable, having been introduced to a familiar work situation, though he was still worried about the smell. Tetch looked up at him, confused. “Doctor Crane is a psychologist, a brain doctor. I am a physical doctor; I specialize in both cardiology and pulmonology but I am capable as a general health doctor. So I may or may not be able to help, depending on what is wrong.”

Jervis Tetch took a deep breath and stewed on this new information for a minute before answering.

“You are in Crane’s body, so, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt her not to know.”

“I am glad that I am of some help. Can you tell me what is wrong with Alice?” Crow asked, in as friendly a manner he could muster. When Tetch hesitated yet again, the Scarecrow connected a few dots. But it was only speculation.

“I think,” Tetch said slowly. “I think it’s best you just see for yourself. There’s a lot to explain.” With this, he stood up with a grunt and shuffled down the hallway into what Scarecrow had presumed was either the bedroom or the office. When he opened the door, Scarecrow could have sworn he felt the stench wash over him.

He instinctively reached up to cover his nose and mouth, eyes watering. He successfully fought back the gagging, but caught his host’s attention when he coughed instead. Jervis Tetch was instantly ten times more concerned than he had been.

“Is there something wrong, Doctor?” he asked, frightened. Scarecrow waved him off, and then gestured to lead the way. The connected dots were now much more than speculation. Immediately after stepping one foot inside the threshold, Scarecrow spotted his patient.

Alice sat in her bed against the headboard, arms stretched out to either side. Her wrists were tied to the headboard and her face was obscured by her hair. The Scarecrow didn’t need to get any closer to know that his patient was long gone. The amount of black covering up the true cover of the duvet would have been an indication on its own, but the fact that she had been dead for several days was evident in the sheer smell. It was summer.

Both Jonathan Crane and the Scarecrow had seen plenty of corpses as a part of their chosen profession, but the Scarecrow had to admit that this is the first one that made him vomit. He practically ran down the hallway to get away from the scene, leaning against a wall as he emptied his stomach. He could faintly hear Tetch freaking out over him, but his utmost priority was in getting his own body under control. As soon as he was sure there was nothing else to push out, he finally spoke.

“Alice has been dead for several days, Tetch!” He yelled. The words felt like sandpaper in his throat, agitating his raw flesh. “She is very fucking dead!”

Jervis Tetch was silent. The Scarecrow wasn’t looking at him but he could only imagine the shock and fear on his face. After a few minutes of watching his vomit soak into the carpet, he sniffed and cleared his throat. He stood up straight and looked back at his spectator.

“I apologise for losing my temper, and for my language.” He said coolly, and cleared his throat again. He could taste the decay at the back of his tongue. “What I meant to say, is that you need a funeral practitioner, not a doctor.”

Still, Jervis Tetch was silent.

“You have deluded yourself, Mr. Tetch. You are in denial, and you need to clean out this apartment. I am assuming that Alice didn’t die by natural causes, so this had better stay under the radar, even here in the Dark Zone.”

Silence, a blank stare.

“Mr. Tetch, can you hear me?” Scarecrow asked cautiously.

“Yes,” he replied, almost in a whisper. “I’m sorry for troubling you.” His words were monotonous and lifeless.

“Mr. Tetch, I am going to have to ask you to take a seat. You look like you are going into shock, and you very well might be.”

“Yes,” he repeated. “‘M sorry for troubling you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part actually took a good amount of time to write compared to the others. Mostly because I wrote about three different scenarios regarding the reveal of the body but then argued with myself over whether I should even describe the body at all. Which, obviously, I ended up not doing. Anyway, every time I read this part I can smell it so bye


	7. Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Scarecrow stopped at his front door and leaned against it while he took off his left shoe.
> 
> “Don’t people usually take their shoes off inside the house?” His guest asked.
> 
> “Don’t you ever stop talking?” He removed his shoe and dumped the key inside into his hand and immediately replaced his sneaker. “The one place a mugger has never checked on me, and consequently the only place a pick pocket can’t pick.” With that he glared at Tetch, causing him to bark another laugh.
> 
> “You keep your wallet in there too?” he teased.
> 
> “Why would any sane man answer that question.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: untreated mental illness, untreated post traumatic stress disorder, abandonment issues, swearing, excessive drinking, verbal homophobia (f-word), puke, Jonathan Crane just being blatantly rude

Scarecrow was forced to make a risky decision by himself. Jervis Tetch was completely mad, and not to mention in shock in the moment in question, and Jonathan was still nowhere to be found. Crow didn’t like dealing with crazy people, it wasn’t in his job description and he certainly wasn’t willing to add it to his resume.

“Tetch, I need you to tell me something,” Scarecrow said, for what he felt was the hundredth time. “Can you understand what I’m saying? Shake your head yes or no.”

“Alice told me not to talk to strangers,” his patient muttered. This was the only answer he had received since revealing the condition of poor Alice. Time to take an unorthodox approach.

“Jervis?” Crow asked. “Jervis, Alice told me you could stay at my house tonight. It is going to be so much fun and you can tell Alice all about it tomorrow.” This caught the man’s attention.

“Really?” Tetch’s face lit up. “Can we have that special cake you mentioned?”

“Of course!” Special cake? “Go get your jacket and we’ll go right now.”

.

“And those people actually believed every god damn word I said!” Tetch exclaimed, laughing at his own story. “And actually, I don’t think I told you this but I left with five more wallets than I arrived with.” 'This man actually has some interesting stories, god forbid I admit that to anyone.'

The Scarecrow stopped at his front door and leaned against it while he took off his left shoe.

“Don’t people usually take their shoes off inside the house?” His guest asked.

“Don’t you ever stop talking?” He removed his shoe and dumped the key inside into his hand and immediately replaced his sneaker. “The one place a mugger has never checked on me, and consequently the only place a pick pocket can’t pick.” With that he glared at Tetch, causing him to bark another laugh.

“You keep your wallet in there too?” he teased.

“Why would any sane man answer that question.” Scarecrow unlocked his front door and gestured inside. “And regarding the information you have provided on our walk here, if I at any point ask for you to empty your pockets, expect retaliation from me if you don’t. I have a few new gassers that need to be tested.” Crow could have sworn he heard the man grin behind his back as he locked the door.

“I need to call a friend,” the Scarecrow added, leading Jervis Tetch to the living room, not that it was very far. “Do you want anything to drink while you wait?” He shook his head. “Alright. Stay in this room please.”

The Scarecrow curtly turned on his heel for the phone on the wall and dialed as fast as he could without messing up. The line rang twice before his “friend” answered.

“Grinch residence.” Penguin. Not the man he’s looking for.

“Tell your fuck buddy I have an interesting problem, Mr. Grinch might have some information that I need.”

“He’s using the other line, want to wait or should I make him hire a secretary?” The screaming in the background made it hard to hear what he said, but Crow could speculate.

“What you should do is have him invest in better soundproofing.”

“Funny, but you know what? I’m a little busy right now, I don't really have time to chat. So unless this is an emergency, I’ll remember to take a number for you.” Cobblepot didn’t even wait for an answer before hanging up. The Scarecrow couldn’t help but think about how much better Jon’s people skills were.

Reluctantly, he hung the phone back on the wall and trudged back to where his house guest lay waiting.

.

“So, the moral of the story, kids, is don’t lick butts!” Jervis was laughing his head off, probably having the time of his life listening to Crow’s medical stories. He remembered vividly that the doctor wasn’t nearly this funny when he was sober. 

“I can’t believe you,” Tetch said in an exacerbated tone. “And where was Jonathan in all this? Why would he even let you go out on the town all alone like that!” And suddenly, the mood fell. Little did he know, Crow was wildly worried about Jon. He felt lost without him.

“Well, this,” he started. He exhaled and took another gulp from the bottle they were sharing. “To be honest. I, he.”

“Nah, take your time man. There’s literally no reason to rush.”

“I just. That was the first time I didn’t have him watching over my shoulder. And all because of that stupid furry.” Crow wiped his face with his hands, hoping to hide any tears that might appear. “I honestly don’t know why he was gone. He just, after what happened then he disappeared and I thought he died. I thought the Bat fucking killed him. I thought he was dead and he left me all alone.”

Jervis watched in awe as the most closed off person he had ever met quickly tripped and fell into this awful hole. He was crying, like actually crying with tears and snot and everything. So Jervis scooted over to where he was sitting on the floor and held his arms out in invitation. Crow, however, hesitated, like he was unsure of what to do, but eventually gave in.

This whole night had been quite the experience for both of them. Jervis couldn't help but wonder if this was the first hug someone had ever given Scarecrow. He was like a child, grasping at his shirt like he was afraid of being alone. And he was, really.

Tetch rocked them back and forth and rubbed Crow’s back while he cried, which he hoped was the right thing to do. But as they were both drunk off their asses, he couldn’t really be sure.

“Hey, how about I’ll stay until he comes back,” Jervis proposed. Crow nodded into his shirt, or he could have been wiping his nose on it, hard to say. “Alright. Okay we are both very drunk. I’m going to be the responsible one and say we should go to sleep. I don’t think your friend is calling tonight.”

“I don’t want to let go,” Crow murmured. “This is really nice.” Jervis almost laughed out loud at that.

.

Jonathan had a headache. No, not a headache, a migraine. And… nausea? Good lord. He shifted a bit in bed to get the sun out of his eyes. What is it with him and sleeping in my clothes?

He was about to brush it off when he felt somebody else shift in his bed.

“Good morning,” a voice said. Jon immediately shot out of bed, regardless of the thumping in his temples, and skillfully pulled his pistol from under the mattress. “OH, um.” This stranger was also wearing clothes, so that’s one scenario knocked off the list.

“Who the fuck are you?” Jon asked through his teeth, fighting the swirling of the room. The man sat up straight and held his hands up, looking like he was feeling the hangover as well.

“Okay, um, I am Jervis Tetch, I am um,” he paused, squeezing his eyes shut. “I am a friend of Scarecrow’s.”

“Scarecrow doesn’t have friends. What are you doing in my house?” Honestly, Jonathan would have been yelling at him but he knew he would regret it if he did. “Why are you in my bed?”

“I’m really getting nervous with that gun so excuse me I-” Tetch rolled over to the side of the bed and retched. After a minute or so, he apologized. “I’m sorry, I’ll clean that up.”

“You drink coffee?” Jon asked, tucking the gun in his waistband. Receiving a ‘yeah’, he slowly made his way to the bedroom door. “Feel free to use my bathroom, I’ll be in the kitchen.” He motioned vaguely in the directions of the rooms he mentioned and left.

Immediately after reaching the kitchen he grabbed the phone off the wall and dialed up Mr Encyclopedia. He held the phone on his shoulder while he prepared a pot of coffee.

“Nygma speaking.”

“Hey, could you do me a favor?” he asked, suddenly very aware of how hoarse his voice was.

“That depends. Does this have anything to do with the other night?” Jonathan froze. “Hello?”

“Yeah, maybe. He’s not up yet but there’s somebody else in my house, Ed.”

“Who the fuck would want to be in your house?” the Riddler deadpanned.

“I don’t know. He’s not even remotely familiar. But he did vomit all over my bedroom floor just now and I barely avoided doing the same.”

“A hangover?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought Scarecrow didn’t drink. Wait, bedroom floor? Did they-”

“Not sure. We both have our clothes on still so it’s unlikely but not impossible.”

“And who is this guy? Why would he be getting drunk with Him?”

“He said he’s Jervis Tetch. Does that ring any bells?”

“Not in the slightest. But I’ll call around and get back to you on that.” There was a silence. “Stay safe,” he said, and immediately hung up. Jonathan set the phone back on the receiver and watched the coffee fill up.

He listened to the sounds of the house and realized the shower was running. 'He feels very at home here, what did you do last night?' When the coffee finished he poured himself a mug and leaned against the counter to breath it in.

He found himself confused about a lot of things, but that was common after emerging after He was in charge for so long. He glanced at the clock and wondered how long he'd been gone.

“Hey, I’m really sorry about making a mess earlier. That’s definitely not my best first impression.” The man walked into the kitchen with a towel over his head.

“First impression? You stayed the night here,” Jonathan said, watching him pour himself a cup of coffee. He knew exactly where the mugs were.

“Yeah, but I went to sleep last night in Scarecrow’s bed, and woke up in yours. You must be the doctor. Unless there’s more than two people living here.”

Mental note to have a serious conversation with Scarecrow about revealing his identity.

“Doctor Jonathan Crane,” he held out his hand for a shake and almost dropped his mug when Tetch, instead, pulled his hand to his lips for a kiss. He yanked his hand away. “Don’t make me get the gun out again. I still don’t know you.”

Tetch murmured an apology and sipped his coffee, looking away.

“How long have I been out?” Jon asked, eager to change the subject.

“Um, almost two days now I think. We spent most of yesterday high so I’m a little lost about that too. I know it’s only been a few days but I want to say I’ve gotten really close to him. So much so I feel like I already know you. You’re all he talks about, you know.”

“All good I hope?” At this, Tetch laughed.

“Am I required to answer that question honestly?” he teased. This man is too comfortable here. Jonathan shot him a glare over his coffee. Again, Tetch apologized.

“I feel the need to remind you that I have no memories of the last two days, Mr. Tetch. Whatever life-changing event brought you so close to the Scarecrow does not apply to myself. I will not pry into His private life unless it interferes with mine. We are not mutually exclusive but there are times where our consciousnesses do not overlap. I have no idea who you are, have I made that clear?” He set his coffee on the counter, giving a full grimace in Tetch’s direction. Faggot.

“You have. I have obviously overstayed my welcome. When Scarecrow gets back, please tell him I had to be somewhere.” Jervis Tetch quickly swallowed the rest of his drink and went off in search of his shoes, not once meeting Jon’s eyes.

Jonathan refilled his own cup and faced toward the kitchen window, forcing himself to drink the coffee even though it was too hot and suddenly far too bitter. Only when he heard the front door close did he finally relax. He bent over the sink and let everything come back up. The coffee still burned even though it was going the wrong way. He carelessly dumped the cups in the sink and went to curl up on the couch. He could almost feel his eyes roll back into his head the moment he hit the cushion.


	8. What He Doesn't Know Can't Hurt Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I have come to realize something very important.”
> 
> “Yeah?”
> 
> “Yeah.”
> 
> “Well, what is it?”
> 
> “Just, you have to promise,” Crow started. He lifted his head to look Jervis in the eye and raised a finger to his lips, earning a raised eyebrow. “You have to promise not to tell anybody.” When Jervis opened his mouth to say something, Crow shushed him loudly. “You can’t tell anybody, ever,” he clarified.
> 
> When he was satisfied with the silence, he went on.
> 
> “Jervis, I have never been hugged ever before in my entire life,” Crow said, dramatically. “Jervis, you are literally my first hug.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW; Kissing, kink negotiation, asphyxiation, brief but non-explicit mention of an erection, abusive relationship, self-degradation

“I don’t want to let go,” Crow murmured. “This is really nice.” Jervis almost laughed out loud at that. He rubbed his hand over Crow’s back in a way he hoped was calming and actually conveyed the right message.

After a bit, he spoke again. “Jervis?” he asked, face still buried in his new friend’s shirt.

“What’s up.”

“I have come to realize something very important.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, what is it?”

“Just, you have to promise,” Crow started. He lifted his head to look Jervis in the eye and raised a finger to his lips, earning a raised eyebrow. “You have to promise not to tell anybody.” When Jervis opened his mouth to say something, Crow shushed him loudly. “You can’t tell anybody, ever,” he clarified.

When he was satisfied with the silence, he went on.

“Jervis, I have never been hugged ever before in my entire life,” Crow said, dramatically. “Jervis, you are literally my first hug.”

Jervis Tetch took a moment to think.

“So, and I am absolutely taking a leap of faith here, I am guessing you’ve never kissed anybody before either?” In response, Crane shook his head.

“No, I wasn’t allowed to make personal relationships. Jonathan has this thing about bodily autonomy or whatever the fuck.”

“What the fuck, that’s rough, so you never had hook-ups in uni or anything?” Crow shook his head again and awkwardly tried to find a more creative way to hug. First, he tried laying on the couch with his arms around his new friend’s shoulders from behind, because that looked right in his head. But a few seconds into that he decided there wasn’t enough contact, not nearly as much as he wanted.

He huffed and got back off the couch and put his hands on his hips, just looking at Jervis and calculating. More contact, but not so much that he’s being rude.

Jervis watched amusedly through the first few positions, some of which were blatantly uncomfortable. Then, after suffering an elbow to the spine, he made his own proposition.

“Hey, why don’t you just, uh,” he waved Crow over. “Sit on my lap, but face me? Will that work?”

Crow narrowed his eyes in what he hoped would be taken as suspicion.

“Are you sure,” he asked slowly.

“This is all you. We are exploring your boundaries, not mine. I am cool with you sitting on my lap.” After explaining, Jervis couldn’t help but think to himself how odd it was that he was helping somebody figure out how best to cuddle.

Satisfied with that answer, Crow testingly kneeled on either side of Jervis’ legs and settled in. Jervis placed his hands on his lower back and carefully coaxed him closer. With Crow’s chest against his own he gave a friendly smile. Crow rested his arms around Jervis’ shoulders, and found himself almost overwhelmed.

Was it too much? Were they touching in too many places? Was this okay? Was it normal to enjoy this so much?

“Feeling better?” Jervis asked. Crow could smell the cheap whiskey on his breath.

“I think so,” he answered. “Thank you. For helping me. For showing me, I guess.” Jervis hummed in acknowledgement.

“Actually,” Crow added, startling himself. “Can you do one more thing for me?”

“Of course.” 

“I just, since you are helping me with hugging I thought, maybe,” he paused. “Can you please kiss me?”

This caught Jervis off guard. He followed a twink home, hoping only for a couch to crash on at the very most, but was pleasantly surprised with being offered alcohol, a new jacket, some cuddling, and now a kiss. He wasn’t entirely sure at this point who was being taken advantage of here. He saw Crow look away and realized he was supposed to answer. But he couldn’t find the right words. 

“I’m sorry, I just figured that I, we,” Crow stammered. “Actually I don’t know what I figured. I’ll just go get some tea.” As soon as he made a move to leave, Jervis grabbed the back of his shirt.

“No it’s okay, you just surprised me is all,” he said quickly, using Crow’s shirt to bring him back down. “But, you know, normally kissing is-” He was going to say something along the lines of ‘reserved for more intimate moments’ but quickly realized that he had kissed people for far less. “Nevermind. It’s okay.”

Crow looked like he had whiplash.

“Do I need to do anything special? I mean, I know the basics,” he asked, an awful lot more nervous than he was a minute ago.

“Not really, just relax and don’t think so hard about it.” Jervis was smiling again. Crow sighed in anticipation.

One of Jervis’ hands moved around to Crow’s front and slowly moved up his chest to where it rested on his jaw. In his mind, Jervis tried to remember that he wasn’t seducing the guy, it was just a kiss. He brought their faces closer and gently pressed his lips against Crow’s. It was a simple kiss, but ultimately the only kiss Crow ever had.

It was only a moment, a few seconds total, before Jervis pulled back. He glanced around Crow’s face to take in his reaction and found himself pleased that he could turn a grown man into a puddle with so little effort. Crow’s eyes were barely open and unfocused, his lips still parted just slightly.

“Can I try it?” he asked, whispering as if they were supposed to be hiding. Jervis gave a small nod and a smile.

“Go ahead.”

Crow shuffled a bit, like he was trying to get a better angle, and placed both hands lightly against Jervis’ throat. He gave a shaky breath and copied that kiss as best he could. It was pleasant, and warm, and he thought about how much nicer it felt than just hugging. And then their lips were moving, they were moving together and it tasted like liquor.

He was excited, he was kissing someone and they were kissing him back and it was fun and warm and safe and- and Jervis made a noise between them. Crow immediately pulled back, startled. Had he done something wrong?

One of Jervis’ hands moved to cover his- he had been squeezing.

Crow scrambled back, out of his lap and stumbled to his feet.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, Jervis was holding a hand against his own throat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.” He apologised, watching Jervis catch his breath, and worried about what that meant for his future. Was he so used to causing pain that he couldn’t even find pleasure without doing so? He couldn’t even kiss someone correctly.

“Wait, Scarecrow,” Jervis wheezed, trying for a smile. “It’s okay. I’m fine, more than fine even. Just maybe not so hard next time.”

“Do you need a drink? Do I,” Crow stopped. “What do you mean, more than fine? I hurt you.”

Jervis sat there and chuckled to himself. How could someone with a reputation like his be so innocent? Again with this being a grown ass man, and had no one ever told him about kinks and shit?

“You,” Crow hesitated. “You liked that.” It wasn’t a question.

“I did.”

“And you still want to kiss me, after that.” Not a question.

“Yes.”

“Did it really feel that good?” Crow winced at the thought of being choked.

“It did. But if it bothers you, then it’s no problem.” He couldn’t deny that he liked the way Jervis’ voice sounded now.

“Would you… want me to do it again?”

“If you were up to it, of course I would.” Jervis stood up and moved to the sofa. “I do have a few pointers, though.”

Crow let out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding and walked back over to the couch. This made Jervis grin, which was a good reaction. He preferred that over fear, right then. Jervis held out a hand for him to take.

“I am going to lay down this time, if you don’t mind,” Jervis said, pulling Crow back toward him by the hand and falling sideways onto the cushions. “Just know that if you do something wrong, you’d already know it because you’d be on the floor.”

The Scarecrow let out a huff of disbelief. “I’d like to think I could take you in a fight, but if you insist.” He straddled Jervis’ waist and waited for instructions.

“I know for a fact you have a sense of humor but I do not know where you’ve put it. No, if something isn’t right I’ll tell you by patting your arm three times. Like this,” he said, demonstrating as he went. “Now usually, when I let people do this they already have experience and they know safety etiquette. But for you I can make an exception.” Jervis took a hold of both of Crow’s hands, guiding one to the cushion beside his head.

“You only need one hand for this because, obviously, you aren’t actually trying to kill me. So you can use this one to help you keep your balance. Now the goal here is to stunt the blood flow, not the air flow, so you want to avoid pressing down with your palm and just gently squeeze from the sides.”

Crow could feel his heart pumping under his fingertips. He felt Jervis’ breath hitch at the touch, his hands racing to find purchase in Crow’s shirt. The Scarecrow shifted his weight to his elbow, leaning down so that their chests were touching, and kissed him softly.

Crow liked kissing. He decided that. So he made sure to get some good kissing done before he started experimenting. But he also found that he liked feeling Jervis gasp against his lips, he liked watching his eyes roll up in what he could only hope was pleasure.

Crow made sure to start out very light, remembering what Jervis said about how to position his hand, and discovered just how little it took to have him moving beneath him, not struggling against him but almost.

But a little while in, Crow noticed something else as well. He noticed just how good this felt for Jervis as well. Occasionally, when he started to lose control over his spasming, Jervis would drive his hips up against Crow’s, almost rutting against him. And not even someone as inexperienced as Scarecrow could ignore the effect this was having on Jervis.

However exciting this revelation was, Crow had no idea how to proceed with this information. Should he help, or was he already helping enough? What kind of reaction would he get if he just… ground his hips down in return? Should he move his other hand?

However, before he had a chance to decide, Jervis tapped his wrist and Crow pulled away.

“Do you need water or ice or tea or something?” he blurted out, instantly remembering that he had literally been choking a man on and off for several minutes at least. Jervis shook his head and spoke, albeit roughly.

“Did you want me to help you with anything else?” Jervis asked. “You’ve been doing this for me, but I want this to be about you, Scarecrow.” He was gently caressing Crow’s thighs, eyes still unfocused.

“I do not know,” Crow replied. “How about we take a break? I understand you liked that but you still look worse for wear.” At this, Jervis chuckled and propped himself up on his elbows. “I’ll go get you some ice, I think I have peas in the freezer,” Crow muttered, pushing himself off the sofa. He couldn’t help but think to himself that perhaps he needed some peas, too, what with how warm his face felt.

As he rifled through his freezer, pushing past several unidentified gallon ziplocks to the very back, where he found a single bag of peas. The expiration date was rubbed off. Neither Scarecrow nor Jonathan actually liked peas, especially frozen ones, so it was only there for times like these. Not that ‘times like these’ happened often.

Crow filled a glass with water from the tap and took his bounty back to his guest, who was now sitting up. Seeing just how splotchy Jervis’ pale skin was shocked Crow back into whatever hole he was used to hiding in.

“Here,” he spat, handing everything over. “Help yourself to the kitchen. I will be down the hall, sleeping, so mute the TV if you do turn it on. The bookshelf is mostly reference material but there might be some things you’d find interesting. If you need extra blankets, I keep my linens under the bathroom sink with the towels.” Scarecrow listed off information in a safe, doctorly fashion, avoided meeting Jervis’ eyes, and promptly left.

The main thought that preoccupied his mind as he absently made himself ready for bed, brushing his teeth for longer than usual, was Jonathan Crane. What kind of idiot was he if he blatantly broke so many rules in a single night without even thinking once about what kind of consequences there were if Jon came back.

No. When Jon came back.

This wasn’t Crow’s body, it wasn’t his choice what he did with it. That night he came ever so close to raping Jonathan Crane while he was unconscious all because of a liquor-induced crush for a man he met just hours ago. He had no say in this, and Jonathan shouldn’t have trusted him to make safe decisions. He was only borrowing this form, and it was his obligation to give it back unharmed and unsullied when he was finished.

However, he thought as he crawled into bed. Kisses don’t exactly leave a mark, if you’re careful. Kisses don’t harm him, and so long as he cleaned up after himself they wouldn’t sully him either. So, kisses are okay. And after all, they only kissed really.

In that case, maybe Jon didn’t even need to know about it. Because, as they say, what you don’t know can’t hurt you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2342 words! Personally, that feels like a good length to me. Remember to comment and shit, because I do this for attention.


	9. Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonathan, immediately after recognizing that the mass he was looking at was in fact a face, sat up in alarm, very narrowly missing said face on his way up.
> 
> “Hi,” the face said. In response, all Jon could bring himself to do was stare incredulously and hope his wits would find him soon. The face stared right back, however, as if it were waiting for something to happen.
> 
> When he finally found his voice, he yelled, quite alarmedly, “What the actual fuck are you doing in my house? How do people keep getting in here!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings include: internalized homophobia, vomiting, possible drug overdose, strong language, past miscommunication

Passing out on his own couch was not in his plans for the day. And neither was having guests, but shit happens. Jonathan Crane came to with a face hovering above his own. Now, Jon may not be able to experience genuine fear, but he sure as hell can be startled. This happened to startle him.

Jonathan, immediately after recognising that the mass he was looking at was in fact a face, sat up in alarm, very narrowly missing said face on his way up.

“Hi,” the face said. In response, all Jon could bring himself to do was stare incredulously and hope his wits would find him soon. The face stared right back, however, as if it were waiting for something to happen.

When he finally found his voice, he yelled, quite alarmedly, “What the actual fuck are you doing in my house? How do people keep getting in here!”

“Sorry,” the face said. But it wasn’t really just a face at all, it was a person. A person wearing clothes in only shades of green and a pair of glasses. “I used the spare key,” he offered, as if that excused him for coming in at all.

Jonathan turned away and clamped a hand to his mouth, feeling about as green as his guest. “Nygma, please move away from the couch before I spill all over your motherfucking diva shoes.”

Edward Nygma stood quickly and hesitated back and forth between offering a hand and simply backing off, but before he could decide, Jon was shoving him out of the way and running to the kitchen.

“Jon, it’s been exactly six hours and twenty three minutes since you called me,” Ed stated. “Shouldn’t you be done with your hangover by now?” But Jon was barely listening as he retched yet again into the sink.

He could hear Ed walking into the room after him, his shoes making a distinct clacking noise against the tile. “Your hair is frankly too long for this,” Ed mumbled, absently, or maybe habitually, gathering said hair out of the way.

Jonathan’s diaphragm spasmed in between retches and his eyes watered, so he couldn’t find the willpower to fight off either the hand in his hair or the hand on his back. As his ceaseless fits finally came up dry he made a mental note to reprimand his intruder for invading his private space.

Over the sound of his blood rushing in his ears, he heard Nygma talk to fill the silence while Jon caught his breath. “I may not be a medical doctor, but I know for a fact this isn’t from indulging in alcohol. Do you,” he paused. “Do you or the Crow make recreational drugs by any chance? Not that I know what gives this severe of a reaction or that I’m accusing you of anything but…”

Ed trailed off. Jon found the energy for a whisper. “I’m gonna sit,” he stated, sinking to the kitchen floor. The tiles were cold.

“Just,” Ed started. “Just don’t lay down, I’ll be right back. Can I use your phone?” Jon nodded and motioned to the hallway. “Thanks.”

As soon as he was out of sight, Jon let his head rest against the cupboard behind him and closed his eyes. ‘What did you do last night?’ But before he could truly rest, Ed was back. Or maybe he did fall asleep, he was unsure. He hated being unsure.

“Jon, wake up,” Ed commanded loudly. “No sleeping yet.” Jon heard a thunk beside him, which he supposed was his intruder sitting next to him. “Hey! Jonathan.”

And apparently, for good measure, Ed took Jon’s face in his hands and lightly tapped his cheek with a thumb. Jon opened one eye specifically with the intention of glaring at him, but this only seemed to give him relief.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Jonathan rasped. “Fuck off.”

“I called Oswald to tell him I’ll be busy,” Ed stated. “I didn’t tell him anything other than I would be out for a while.”

“Good for you.” Jonathan’s voice was venomous with sarcasm. “Now get the fuck out of my house and go bother some other poor idiot.” At this, he closed his eyes and made a point of shoving Ed’s face away from his own. 

Edward sighed. “You’ll thank me later.” Jon didn’t have time to argue that point before he was dragged out of his kitchen.

.

Jonathan wasn’t angry that he had been handcuffed to the headboard. He didn’t have the energy to be angry. No, but he was annoyed and slightly impressed that Edward was so keen to save him from himself that he would go so far as to rifle through Jon’s closet for something to tie him up with.

Before this, Jon didn’t even think they could be considered friends. They were acquaintances, at the very most. Ed, however, seemed to feel different about this matter. When prompted about his reasoning, Jon found his answer wanting.

“Why am I doing this? What do you mean, why am I doing this? Do you  _ not _ remember the last five years?” Jonathan Crane was very sure he did, but didn’t have a clue as to what that had to do with anything. So he let it be.

“What do you even plan to do while I’m tied up here, huh?” he asked. “The basement is off limits, as always, and there’s no hot water.” This made Ed visibly wince.

“How do you even live like this? No hot water,” he grumbled, sitting on the bed by Jon’s feet. “Guess I’ll just have to, um, take a nap?”

“I don’t have a guest bedroom,” Jon growled.

“That’s okay because you won’t mind sharing a bed, will you?” Ed asked, though it was the kind of pointed question that implied that he didn’t need an answer. This was confirmed when he crawled over Jon to flop down on the other side of him, propping his head up on his elbow. When Jon scowled at him, he only smiled.

Jonathan, in an attempt to escape his oddly-cheerful mood, shifted onto his side to face away from him. He never did expect the kind of backfire he experienced, though. Ed must have taken it as some sort of invitation and rested his free hand on Jon’s waist, which prompted all the puzzle pieces in Jon’s head to click into place.

“What the fuck, Ed?” he shouted, attempting to kick him.

“Ouch, hey, sorry!” Ed groaned, though Jonathan couldn’t see where his kicks had landed. “Okay, ouch, you don’t do touching! Got the memo, now! Thanks for being gentle with me!”

“Uncuff me right now or so help me God.” Jonathan was panicking, but he was careful not to show it. He hoped that he came across as unbelievably angry. Ed was making sounds somewhere along the lines of ‘yeesh’ and ‘ah hell’ and ‘goddamnit’ while he fumbled to unlock Jon’s cuffs.

When he finally slipped free and jumped off the bed, he could see Ed holding one of his shins with a look of confusion.

“What kind of relationship do you think we have, Nygma?” he asked accusingly. Ed narrowed his eyes and huffed.

“Like, really good friends? Except not now because you kicked me.”

“What kind of ‘friends’ hold each other like that, Ed? Care to enlighten me?”

“We do! What has gotten into you? The fuck happened after you called me, Jon?” Edward looked upset and worried, which was startling to Jon.  _ The last five years _ , he thought.  _ We do _ , he thought.

“I have never so much as hugged you, Ed.”

“Yeah, and we’ve never been alone in a room before either until now! I’ve held your hand in public whenever the chance comes around and I figured that you never went in for more because you didn’t want people to see, maybe?”

But Jonathan does remember that, now. An unconscious action he took every single time Ed was close enough. He hadn’t thought of it as anything before. It never bothered him before.

“I assume,” Ed started, slowly this time. “That I’ve misread our situation.”

“I’m sorry, Ed,” Jon apologized. He didn’t do that often. “That guy, Tetch, I think that his ‘situation’ with Scarecrow is more intimate than I previously thought. He assumed that I retained some of his feelings and made some advances that have put me in a defensive position. I’m just upset, Nygma, I didn’t mean to freak out on you.”

“Apology accepted, I guess.” Ed was still laying on his side, rubbing his shin. Jon, now feeling empty and soft, crawled back onto the bed, facing him. He sighed and rested his hand, palm up, between them.

“You had better not betray this trust I’m putting in you, Nygma,” he whispered, watching Ed as he entwined their fingers together. He didn’t come any closer or try to touch him anywhere else, just held his hand. It was comfortable and familiar, and Jonathan couldn’t say that about most things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave kudos and comments. i do this for attention


End file.
